Soundscape

There are times for feeling fragile -
perhaps you would call it paranoid -
but sometimes I find myself curled
against a dark corner, palms down
in a white grip along the maple grain.
Ideally, when I freeze and listen,
I can feel the frequencies drifting in
or out of the baseboards, from falling
to rising in a self-proclaimed strength;
a promise to carry the world away
from a fear of walking upon waves
while drowning beneath the sound.

--
*Older piece, because inspiration's being a jerk. (sorry Coral)*

I actually don't think I've REVIEWED this one before, though I've definitely seen it.

Okay, so onto the actual review now
I love beginning. It's very simple and it leaves a lot open-- the poem could still go a lot of ways, but it's a really interesting opening. Great job.

against baseboards, palms down in
a red grip along the maple floors.

This part (I don't know why) bothered me. Maybe it's because there isn't an article before "baseboards", but the second line kind of confused at me first. I really don't know why it bothered me, but it did. (Isn't that helpful?)

In this part:

I can hear the frequencies drifting
in and out of the hallway,

I thought that instead of melding the images of soundwaves going through the air, what about them rattling across the floors? You've made your narrator laying down, watching sound move around at their level, but then I'm picturing the sound way up in the air again. I think that if you wanted to keep your reader with the narrator, on the ground in a room, scared, you could make the sound creeping along the floors. Just a thought though-- you're the writer.

from a fear of walking upon waves
while drowning beneath the sound.

Okay, so first, with these lines, I love the sense of conclusion. However, when you actually look at these in context, they're worded a little bit awkwardly. It's one clause too much to get a full impact. The language itself is beautiful, but you might want to change the phrasing so that the reader really gets the chance to feel that finality-- as it is, it's a really long section, and can be switched around.


OVERALL: I loved it. I love everything you write. Great language and concept. You might try incorporating a greater sense of fear/paranoia/fragility in the narrator, but it's really up to you. Either way, excellent write.

-Coral-

First off, I've got to say it, I love the title. It's so...poetic. Looking at the below review, the second line here-
"against baseboards, palms down in
a red grip along the maple floors."
Confused me as well. Is it that...I don't know, the character's palms are sweating, or maybe he just needs something to hold on to, so he's just gripping onto whatever it he's got, which is only the floor? I'm just unsure if I'm interpretting it correcting.
I also adored your last lines-
"from a fear of walking upon waves
while drowning beneath the sound."
It just felt so right.

Beautiful poem, I really enjoyed reading it. Hypnotising. Amazing.

Hey Ear!

Yeah, I could tell that inspiration wasn't really with you when you wrote this. It does not sound quite as flowing, as natural, as other pieces by you. But despite its relatively forced rhythm, it was a great poem. I very much envy the title.

Ideally, when I freeze and listen,
I can feel the frequencies drifting in
or out of the baseboards, from falling

...And this. I love this.

The one line that I do feel could be made better was this one:

perhaps you would call it paranoid -

This is a major rhythm breaker, in my opinion. I never personally liked interruptions like this. They sound like little blips in the flow. I would definitely consider changing this line.

a promise to carry the world away
from a fear of walking upon waves
while drowning beneath the sound.

This is probably even more just a personal idiosyncrasy, but I just could never stand it when one sentence, uninterrupted by any punctuation, stretches for more than one or two lines. This really could just be me, as I can see that the reviewer before me absolutely loved it. I just thought I would point it out.

Great job!

-Kafka